


A Hell of a Dinner

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens
Genre: Fat Duck, Friendship, Gen, Restaurants, snail porridge, terrifying food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley and Aziraphale eat at the Fat Duck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hell of a Dinner

  
"This," Aziraphale said, poking at his dessert cautiously, as if it might explode leaving deliciousness smeared over the walls, "Is an abomination."

  
"You eat fish eggs," Crowley shrugged, hovering over his own plate in anticipation. "You eat them with cream that has deliberately been soured."

  
"That's different," Aziraphale said. He stalled for time, looking round at the other diners, smiling pleasantly at the waiters, drinking another litre of sparkling water and another glass of wine. He thought about the terrifying drive down from London and the fact that Crowley would want to drive back even faster just to test his theory that a few glasses of wine sharpened his reflexes. He twiddled his thumbs and mentally recited the first book of _Paradise Lost_, even though that always made Crowley sneeze. "Bless you," he said absently. "Oh, sorry." Then he looked down at his plate. The damn thing hadn't melted at all.

  
"You _will_ eat that," Crowley said. "Do you know what this place costs? And the _waiting list_ –"

  
"You're infernally rich, and you've never let a thing like waiting lists bother you in six thousand years," Aziraphale said. He looked gloomily at his plate, and even more gloomily at the pristine white tablecloth. "Why does the man have such an obsession for breakfast?" he said sadly.

  
"You _like_ porridge!" Crowley said encouragingly. "And you like snails – you _love_ French cuisine."

  
"Maybe," Aziraphale said, "But I never want to have snail porridge again as long as I live, er, exist. There've been so _many_ courses, I'm not sure I can manage another mouthful. And there really is meat in this ice cream, and it's _bacon_, so I can't _possibly_\--"

  
"You're not actually Jewish," Crowley snapped. "Stop wasting my £115 and eat it!"

  
Aziraphale hesitantly spooned a tiny spot of bacon and egg ice cream to his lips. "Lovely," he said, and was gratified that Crowley didn't look _quite_ as impatient as before. He ate a little more, and smiled cheerily. "Quite delightful."

  
"Are you lying?" Crowley said, sipping his wine.

  
"Oh, yes."

  
"Good. I approve of lying. You can look more appreciative than that, come on, practice your skill at bearing false witness."

  
Aziraphale snorted and ate another small spoonful, which finished the ice cream off. It was all right, he grudgingly supposed. And the tiny caramelized pain perdu and the oddly fragrant tea jelly were, he had to admit, delicious. "Still, I'd have preferred vanilla," he muttered.

  
"Typical angel," Crowley sniggered in a vulgar manner. He sat back and looked round in satisfaction. "I like this place," he said. "I think it's the sort of place a person like me should eat every day."

  
"You'd starve to death," Aziraphale said. "Or you'd find yourself in a smaller material body than you were used to, at least."

  
"There's a chip shop in the village," Crowley said. "I could have something there if I still felt peckish."

  
"Ooh, really? Do you fancy a nice bag of chips for the drive back? My treat," Aziraphale said.

  
"Thanks," Crowley said dryly, handing his credit card over to the waiter who materialized beside him in a way he found professionally interesting. It would explain a lot about the meal, and the way people were so very eager to wait for the opportunity to shell out so much money, he thought. He was, after all, well acquainted with the idea of handing out ultimately worthless vanities for a very great cost. "You're very generous," he grinned, signing the quickly returned slip.

  
"Think nothing of it, my dear," Aziraphale said, quite gleeful at the idea of what he considered real food.

  
"You've probably got me banned from this place. Never mind, I've gone off it," Crowley said. "Oh well, let's get your chips and get out of this benighted excuse for a centre of human habitation." He winked at the affronted waiter and ushered Aziraphale out. The waiter sniffed, and went back to inflicting culinary tortures on other eager diners. _Really_, it thought, _that attitude was bad enough from the _human_ diners._

_   
_

* * *

  
Crowley and Aziraphale's menu can be seen [on the restaurant's website.](http://www.fatduck.co.uk/) Mmm, sardine sorbet! (I like sardines - I even like anchovies. I'm not sure I'd like them in a sorbet, though).

**Author's Note:**

> Since this story was first written, the Fat Duck's tasting menu has gone up to £150, and many of the courses have been changed. The snail porridge is still one of them though! (July 2010)


End file.
